


Come Together Slowly

by elfgirl931



Series: Kyra Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfgirl931/pseuds/elfgirl931
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short works featuring Fenris and Kyra Hawke. Mostly prompts from Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Realization

      When Fenris first met Kyra Hawke, he thought she would make a useful ally. She was more than capable, deadly even, with a pair of daggers, and she had some powerful friends with her as well. Then, after the botched foray into his former master’s manor, she surprised him with her willingness to be his friend. He hadn’t even known that someone like him could _have_ friends, but he cautiously agreed. He never expected her to actually follow through.

      Only a few days passed before she knocked on his door again, shouting cheerfully that she needed a favor, and did he want to go with them to the Wounded Coast? He’d half risen from his chair, one hand on his greatsword, but before he knew it, they were all marching out of the city and down the coast.

      “You’re in for it now, Broody,” Hawke’s dwarf friend had said. “Once Hawke has decided you’re her friend, there’s no going back.”

      The mad thing was, Hawke truly did want him as a friend, not just a hired sword. She was forever dropping by with fresh baked bread, invitations to card parties in Varric’s suite or in her own home, or simply to talk to him. He found himself looking forward more and more to her visits, to times that she asked him to help her with something, and felt strangely emptier each time that she left. He counted himself grateful to be her friend, and that she’d chosen to include him in her strange band of misfits.

      Now, though, Fenris did not know what Hawke was to him. The word “friend” had felt strange in his thoughts lately, as though it did not quite fit her. She made him stumble over his words and feel foolish like no one else quite could, but it was stranger than that. His life had been a constant stream of motion and confusion, but in the scant months he’d known her, he’d allowed Hawke to become a sort of anchor for him. The thought felt like standing at the edge of the precipice - if he pursued it, there was no going back up.

      “Are you coming, Fenris?” Hawke called, startling him out of his thoughts. He looked up to where she was standing in the mouth of the cave they’d just cleared, the sun nearly blinding him. Her silhouette was all that he could see until he walked closer.

      She waited for him until he could see the smile lighting up her face. “Thought we’d lost you back there.”

     _I wasn’t lost. I’ve found my way with you_. The thought rose unbidden and threatened to spill out of his lips. What he actually said was far less sentimental. “No, I was… lost in my thoughts. Lead on.”

      She smiled one more time and walked out ahead of him, the sunlight throwing a coppery shine on her dark hair. Fenris realized that he’d walked right off the precipice without realizing it, and that simply calling Hawke “friend” would never, ever feel right. What exactly he would call her, though, remained to be seen.


	2. All That Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Leandra's death, Fenris is the last person Kyra expects to offer her comfort.

      Kyra sat heavily on her bed, one boot on her foot and the other on the floor. She’d started to undress but ran out of energy almost right away. She hadn’t cried yet, couldn’t cry in front of Aveline, who would have tried to put a hand on her shoulder and make promises to her. She couldn’t cry in front of Anders, who would have hugged her and that would have only made her cry more. Maker help her if she cried in front of Fenris - who knew what he would have done?

      So she’d stayed silent and stony, contacting the city undertakers to come and get her mother’s body, giving them instructions for the funeral. Her heart was encased in ice, and she concentrated on not letting it melt. She dealt with Gamlen, told her friends to go home, and came upstairs.

       Now that Kyra was alone in her bedroom, the tears would not come. She stared numbly at her hands, noticing distantly that there was still dried blood on her fingers.

       Time passed, or maybe it didn’t. Maybe she sat there looking into the fireplace and the moon and stars were no longer wheeling through the sky. Her mind skittered away every time it tried to form the sentence _my mother is dead_ \- if she let herself think it, it would be true and time would keep going and she would unravel. All Kyra wanted was to sleep and forget everything and maybe wake up and see that she’d had a terrible nightmare, but she knew it was a hollow wish. If she closed her eyes she would relive everything.

      A soft knock sounded at her door, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to answer it. It came again a moment later, slightly more insistent. “I don’t need anything, Bohdan,” she called, her voice cracking slightly.

      The door pushed open anyway, and it was not Bohdan but Fenris who stepped hesitantly into her room. In another time, Kyra would have been shocked to see him there, considering how disastrously the last time he’d been in her room had gone. Now, though, she couldn’t summon a feeling beyond vague surprise.

      “I…don’t know what to say, but I am here.” He crossed the room slowly and after a moment’s hesitation, sat on the bed next to her.

      Kyra felt something stir inside her her ice block of a heart - she and Fenris hadn’t exactly been in an easy or comfortable place for the past few weeks, so she knew it couldn’t have been easy for him to come here. “I don’t know what to say either, to be honest.”

       “I know you, Hawke. You blame yourself. I could assure you that it was not your fault, but I do not think it would help you.”

       “You’re right,” she answered with a mirthless little laugh. “I don’t suppose that it would.”

      “It was _not_ your fault,” Fenris said anyway, looking at her with such intensity that she wasn’t able to keep his gaze.

      “But this always happens to me, Fenris,” Kyra whispered to her lap. “My father told me to take care of our family when he was gone. And now they’re all gone. First Bethany, and then Carver had to go the Wardens because I couldn’t keep him safe, and now my mother. I couldn’t keep any of them safe.” She clenched her hands in her lap and stared at the bloodstains on her fingers as if they would anchor her. As if she made a tight enough fist, she could stop herself from falling apart.

       It was the light, tentative touch that Fenris placed on her shoulder that finally broke her. “Why does this always happen?” she whispered again before the tears took over, falling like rain into her lap and shaking her body with sobs.

        Fenris let her cry and never took his hand from her shoulder. When she finally slowed a little and took a few deep breaths, he bent his head near her ear. “I would take this burden from you, if I could.”

        Kyra could find no answer but to slowly sink down into the bed on her side. “Tell me a story, Fenris.”

      “I… I am no storyteller.” He paused and looked sidelong at her. “But if it is what you need, I will try.”

       “Just tell me anything. Tell me about Seheron. Tell me about the Fog Warriors. Anything.”

        Fenris began to speak, and Kyra’s eyes closed. She listened to his voice telling her of the sea, and waves breaking on the beach and then of the hot jungles filled with giant leaves where water seemed to drip from the very air. She listened to him speak until he dropped into Arcanum, syllables bleeding together until all she saw in her mind’s eye was his mouth forming the words. She slept that night filled with Fenris’s voice, and that was enough.


	3. You are My Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyra almost loses Fenris, and has to keep him awake.

      Things like this always happened too fast. Too fast for her to do anything. It happened with Bethany - one minute she was right in front of her sister, and the next minute the ogre was smashing her to the ground. It happened with Carver - one minute they were emerging victorious from a battle with darkspawn, and the next he was collapsing, his face turning gray with the Taint. Her mother, one moment bidding her goodbye at the estate, and then it seemed the next was dying in her arms at the hands of a madman. Nothing she could do.

      And it was the same that night, when Hawke stood back to back with Isabela, their daggers flashing through the night air in deadly circles. One bandit after another fell to their lethal dance, and Isabela laughed as she ran after one foolish enough to turn his back to her. One moment Hawke was flipping her daggers back into their sheaths, thinking to start looting the bodies, and the next she was on the ground, her head cracking against the pavement and the breath knocked out of her lungs. Distantly she heard Isabela and Anders shouting, but she couldn’t get up to see why. When she got her eyes open, tiny white lights flashed in her vision, but she could vaguely see a shock of white hair and a pointed ear.

      An enormous weight was suddenly hauled off of her, and she could breath again. Isabela was there, her mouth set in a grim line, and she shoved a tiny flask into Hawke’s hands. “Drink this. You’re going to need it.”

     Hawke tipped back the contents and winced at the burn going down her throat, but her head cleared immediately. “What happened?”

     Isabela reluctantly turned her head and moved aside, and Hawke’s heart turned suddenly to ice. She felt herself standing and moving as if through water. _No, no no, not again._

Fenris had been fine just moments before, but now he was lying on the cold paving stones, a crossbow bolt buried deep in his chest. Anders was already there, passing his hands laced with healing magic over Fenris. Hawke felt dizzy as she stumbled over to them, falling on her knees beside them. _I can’t lose him too._ Tears spilled out of her eyes when Fenris moved, opening his eyes briefly and groaning in pain. He coughed wetly, and flecks of blood spilled onto his cheek.

      “He jumped in front of you,” Isabela said quietly, already kneeling beside Anders and cutting deftly through Fenris’s leather armor with her dagger. “There was one bastard we missed, and he shot at you. I’ve never seen Fenris move so fast.”

     “I think the bolt missed his lung. We have to push it through,” snapped Anders, uncorking a lyrium potion and swallowing the whole thing. “Help me sit him up. I’ll heal him as fast as I can when it’s out.”

      Hawke moved to sit behind Fenris, supporting his head and one shoulder as Isabela and Anders pulled him up. She felt the tension in his body as Isabela cut the fletching off the end, and then as he tried not to scream when the bolt went through. One of his hands came up to grip hers on his shoulder. Hawke pulled the bolt as cleanly as she could out of his body, and tried not to sob at the amount of blood that poured out.

      Anders was already at work, healing magic flowing out of his hands as fast as he could push it. “Keep him awake, Hawke,” he gritted out. “Isabela, run to the clinic and get my kit. He’ll need patching up even with the magic.”

     Fenris let his head sag backwards onto her shoulder. His face was so pale, and the lines of lyrium across his chest lit up wherever Anders touched them with his magic. Hawked kissed his ear and gripped his hand harder than ever. “Stay with me, Fenris,” she whispered.

      “Only if you stop crying,” he answered weakly, which only resulted in a fresh flood of tears from her. His eyes began to close again.

     “Hawke,” Anders said warningly, his voice strained. “He has to stay awake.”

      A memory came to Hawke then, of Bethany with a broken arm and her father setting it and healing it. Bethany had leaned against her just as Fenris was now, and she’d sung her sister a lullaby to keep her from crying.

      “ _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_ ,” she began singing softly in Fenris’s ear. Her voice shook, but she knew he could hear her. “ _You make me happy when skies are gray._ " Had the bleeding stopped? " _You’ll never know… how much I love you_.” Her voice broke a little at the last word, but she kept going. The wound was starting to close. “ _Please don’t take my sunshine away.”_

      Any other time Hawke would have felt absurd, singing a child’s lullaby to the man she loved, but Anders nodded encouragingly at her, and so she sang it again. And again, and again, until the healing stopped and the wound was an angry pink splotch on Fenris’s chest and back, and Anders sat back in exhaustion, and Isabela had come back with the kit.

      Fenris was breathing easier, but still sagged backwards against her. She gently eased him down until his head rested in her lap. She leaned forward until her hair covered them like a curtain and kissed his forehead. “Don’t ever save my life like that again, do you hear me?”

      He laughed weakly, which she took as a good sign. “No promises.”


	4. Amor Insipientem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short fluffy piece with Fenris helping Kyra in the kitchen. Set during Act III, after they've started their relationship again.

      “Here, Fenris. You can stir this part.” Kyra thrust a bowl into his hands and practically skipped to the other side of the large kitchen, whipping a metal whisk through a large basin of cream.

      He looked dubiously into the mess of flour and butter and Maker knew what else and set the bowl carefully on the counter. Give him a blade, set him in front of someone who needed killing, and he wouldn’t bat an eye. Ask him to help Hawke in the kitchen, and he felt like a gawking boy with too many thumbs.

     “Stop scowling,” she said, coming up beside him and kissing his cheek. Her smile was bright enough to be contagious, and he felt one turning up the corners of his own lips. “It’s not going to bite you. Just stir it until it’s mush.”

    “Very well.” He gripped the spoon and began attacking the mixture, mimicking Hawke’s actions the best that he could. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, and couldn’t help smiling again. She was just as quick and graceful in the kitchen as she was in combat, flitting from the oven to the counter, stirring and whisking and chopping.

      Suddenly she was back, peering into his bowl with an appraising eye. “Looks good. Come pour it in here.”

     Fenris picked up the bowl, just as carefully as before, and turned in the direction she’d indicated. He didn’t anticipate her moving the same way at the same time, and they bumped into one another. In his haste to save the bowl from upending, he pulled it close to himself too quickly, and some of the batter slopped up into his face.

      Kyra’s laugh rang through the kitchen, and any annoyance he might have felt evaporated at the sound. It had been too long since she laughed like this. He laughed a little himself, and set the bowl back on the counter. “If you would be good enough to get me a towel? he asked dryly, but was unable to keep the smile off of his face.

      He leaned against the counter while she poured the batter into its pan and set it in the oven. “Had to get that in there, sorry.” She tossed him a towel from the side of the wash basin and then hoisted herself to sit on the counter next to him.

      “Perhaps you deserve recompense for making me wait,” Fenris said as he wiped the towel across his face.

     “What?” she said in confusion. Before she could comprehend his meaning, he flicked a blob of cake batter right into her face. He quickly threw the towel across the room into the washbasin before she could retaliate.

      “Making jokes? Playing pranks? Who are you and what have you done with Fenris?”

       “ _Amor __insipientem_ ,” he murmured as he wiped the batter off of her face with one finger.

      “No fair. You know I still can’t speak Arcanum,” she protested, but a mischievous glint lit up her eye. She carefully took his hand, never touching his markings, and slid his finger into her mouth. It was ostensibly to lick the batter off, but she looked him right in the eye when she did it.

      A wave of heat rushed down his body, and he crushed his lips to Kyra’s, tangling both hands in her hair and pulling her body flush against his. She wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him back as though her life depended on it. His knees nearly buckled when she ran one fingertip up the shell of his sensitive ear, and he felt her smiling against his lips. He was lost for quite a while in the feel and taste of her lips and skin.

     Kyra was just pulling at the hem of his loose shirt when Fenris pulled away for a moment, wrinkling his nose. “I smell something burning.”

      “Andraste’s ass, the cake!” She flung herself off of the counter, opening the oven door to loose a torrent of black of black smoke. The cake had burnt to a crisp. “Damn,” she muttered, staring forlornly at the black hunk in the pan.

      “We still have the cream and strawberries,” Fenris said, quirking one eyebrow. “Perhaps we can still make use of them.”

      The mischievous glint returned to Hawke’s eye. “You. Upstairs, now.” She grabbed the basin of cream and dashed out of the kitchen, leaving him to follow her with the strawberries.

    ** _Amor _ _insipientem =_ Latin Google translation of “love makes one a fool” _  
_


	5. Praecipita Tuam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Hawke and Fenris renew their relationship, Fenris comes to visit late one night. They have a conversation about trust and helping each other.

      Fenris quietly let himself in the Hawke Estate, grateful that Bohdan didn’t seem to be awake at the late hour. He was still not accustomed to having a key, but it was a pleasant, heady freedom to be welcome in Hawke’s home at any time.

      He padded up the stairs and paused for a moment before knocking on Hawke’s bedroom door, overcome suddenly with doubt. On one hand, she _had_ said he was welcome to come see her at any time of the day or night. Still, he glanced at the high window in the hall to see the moon full and high in the sky - it was late. Hawke had probably retired to bed ages ago. Suddenly it seemed very ill-advised to come barging in at the dead of night - p erhaps it wouldn’t matter to her that she’d been gone for three days on a trip to Sundermount. Perhaps she hadn’t missed him as much as he very much didn’t want to admit he missed her.

      Fenris spent an agonizing few moments wavering between leaving and knocking - he knew if Hawke could see him, she’d laugh gently and tell him not to be silly. Before he could decide what to do, he heard a loud thump inside the room, followed by breaking glass, and his decision was made for him. He flung the door open, his tattoos glowing fiercely as he searched for an intruder.

       But the room was quiet and the windows were intact. The only sound was the gentle crackling from the fireplace. Hawke knelt on the floor by her desk, her eyes wide as she stared at him. Fenris felt his face heat with embarrassment, and he slowly let the light drain out of his tattoos.

      “Forgive me, I -“

      “Fenris what - ” Hawke said at the same time. She breathed out a laugh and shook her head. “You thought someone was in here, didn’t you?”

     “You know me too well.” He shifted awkwardly, wanting nothing more than to duck out of the room. “It seems that I’ve been a fool.”

     “No, not at all. I’m sorry I scared you. I don’t know what came over me, I just…. ” She gestured helplessly at the floor, where it seemed the entire contents of her desk was scattered. Shards of glass from a broken vase lay intermingled with with rolls of parchment, broken quills, books, and a few dried flowers. Fenris helped her clean the mess without comment, and when they were finished, Hawke leaned wearily against her bed.

        “I’m sorry,” she said again. “You know I don’t usually get angry like that. There’s just… there are so many people asking me for things. I’m bombarded with letters every day from the Chantry and the Circle and the nobles and everyone just wants me to _fix_ everything!” Her voice rose slightly, and she sat down heavily on the bed. “I’m supposed to be their Champion, but I never asked for that. I’m just a backwater Ferelden, I don’t know how to do all this. I don’t _want_ to do all this!” She rubbed her eyes wearily and sighed, looking down at her hands. ”I got to babbling. I didn’t mean to throw all of this on you.”

      “You needn’t do that, you know,” Fenris murmured, taking her hand after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Not with me.”

       “Do what?”

       “Keep all of your burdens to yourself. You try not to let others see your pain, and I wish you would… I wish it were not so,” he finished lamely.

        Tears leaked out of the corners of Hawke’s eyes. “I suppose you’re right,” she said faintly.  She slumped forward slowly to rest her forehead on his chest, and her grip on his hand tightened. Fenris sat next to her on the bed and put one arm around her gingerly, still unsure of what sort of touch she needed. When she didn’t shrug him off, he pulled her a little closer, feeling inordinately pleased when she rested her head on his shoulder.

      “You take too much on yourself, Hawke,” Fenris said quietly. “I may not be of much help, but I wish you would let me hold your burdens with you.”

       “I will. I promise.” She turned her face towards his and kissed his cheek gently. “And Fenris? You’re far more helpful than you think. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”  


	6. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny piece of fluff for the aftermath of Kirkwall.

      Fenris has gotten perhaps a bit better over the years at giving comfort – a slow, subtle process, to be sure, but the results are quite marked. Kyra remembers a night, so many years ago now; where he barely dared to touch her, both of them raw with pain and awkwardness. How he came to her anyway and sat next to her as she wept herself dry over losing her mother. She remembers the tones of his voice lulling her to sleep with stories of Seheron, as though it all happened yesterday.   
  
      Now they stand at the stern of Isabela’s ship, watching Kirkwall recede into the horizon. No shyness lies between them, not after all they’ve been through. Fenris has his arms tucked securely around her, one hand at her back and the other cradling her head, as if the action alone can protect her from all they’ve seen and done today. From time to time he dips his head to rest against hers, heaving out a sigh. Neither of them speaks, but then they don’t need to. Kyra knows she should feel shocked at the loss of her home, frightened at the uncertainty of their future, and she likely will, given some time. All she feels right now, though, is safe in the knowledge that Fenris is there with her, and always will be. 


	7. Moth, Meet Candle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grumpy Fenris and an impromptu dance at a harvest festival

    Fenris had always hated dancing. In Tevinter, if people were dancing it meant a gala, and a gala meant another chance for Danarius to parade his little wolf in front of his guests. Of course, Fenris himself had never danced at such events, but the memories were enough to put him off of it forever.

     Now, though, he thought he might be willing to change that, if he could only find the courage. He leaned against the wall of a lantern-lit square in the middle of Lowtown, watching a throng of Ferelden refugees stomp and clap to the sounds of fiddles and flutes and rough-made drums. Fenris caught glimpses now and then of those he knew - Isabela, dancing beside Bethany with a coin-spangled scarf tied around her waist; Aveline, red in the cheeks from spiced wine; even the blood mage was there, trying to tug Varric out of his seat to dance with her - but his eyes were drawn again and again to Hawke.

      Her deep red skirt flared around her ankles as she twirled and clapped in time with the music. She moved as gracefully here as she did in battle, but there was something more to it. It was her smile, Fenris decided. Here, she wore joy openly on her face and roses tucked in her dark hair, and it was mesmerizing. No matter how many times Hawke disappeared into the crowd, his eyes found her again like a moth drawn to a flame.

     As if she felt the weight of his gaze, Hawke spun to face him - flushed, laughing, _beautiful_ -  and he hated, _hated_ the way his cheeks suddenly warmed and his head bowed to avoid her eyes. But when he finally dared to look up again, Hawke stood before him with her hands outstretched.

      “Dance with me?” she asked, smiling as though the question he’d dared not ask was the easiest and most natural thing in the world. 

       “I do not know this dance,” he said after a pause. 

      “Then I’ll teach you.” She gently took his hands and tugged him forward. Her palms were warm against his, and he nearly lost his footing. “Just follow me.”

      “I believe it is customary for the man to lead,” Fenris said drily, even as he arranged his feet to mirror hers. 

      “Exactly what about me is _customary_ , Fenris?”

      “There is that,” he acknowledged. The thread of their conversation was lost in the rhythm of stepping, clapping, and turning. Fenris would have felt like a fool were it not for Hawke grinning up at him, laughing and spinning and her hands clasped in his. He couldn’t have looked away if he tried.


End file.
